Sandpoint is a picturesque town on the shores of the Varisian Bay. Despite this, it's suffered a lot recently. Five years ago the town was terrorized by a serial killer who claimed 25 victims and the town chapel burned to the ground, killing the priest and his adoptive angel-blooded daughter and the town has not fully recovered.

Today, though, is happy. It is the first day of autumn and one of the holiest days for the goddess Desna, the Swallowtail Festival. Additionally, the new cathedral to dedicated to Desna, Abadar, Sarenrae, Shelyn, and Gozreh is being consecrated today.

Music and laughter fills the air and children run from diversion to diversion. Despite the decorations, you can't help but notice scars on the buildings, as though someone hacked carvings off of the buildings, fences, and other wooden objects around town.

The entire town is celebrating the holiday, but the festival is centered on the square in front of the new cathedral. A stage and podium is set up, and the local taverns, inns, and public houses are setting up for the feast.

Ok folks. If you could give us all a bit of description, and why you're in Sandpoint, etc. Also, the shops are open so if you're looking for something let me know, or look them up in the wikia.

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We can lick gravity, but sometimes the paperwork is overwhelming. - Werner von BraunRight now you have no idea how lucky you are that I am not a sociopath. - A sign seen above my desk.There's no upside in screwing with things you can't explain. - Captain Roy Montgomery

Eloise is in town for the Consecration, and muses on escaping her current circumstance by by joining the priesthood. She'll hover near the church and stalls and keep an eye out for any pretty trinkets that are within her price range (though she's still unused to having to watch her expenses).

Eloise will try to stay out of the way and be unobtrusive. However she's not really got the knack and will probably stand out like a sore thumb.

Not too long into the morning, a Costal Barque pulls into the bay and into Sandpoint's dockyard, its crew of sailors securing the vessel. It seems to be just another merchant vessel, but to the crew, it's a privateer vessel masquerading as one. Crew and a small group of passengers disembark, the crew members heading to the taverns.Inside the captain's quarters, a heated argument is in full flame.

"First, you avoid easy targets, and now you take on passengers!?" shouts an angry woman in a Chelaxian accented voice, "I signed on with a privateer, not a merchant moonlighting as a military sailor." she snarls at a perturbed captain.

"Then perhaps you should have looked for a pirate vessel, Shyla." he retorts. "I can't keep this ship and it's crew fully stocked and sailing if I don't make those kinds of calls."

"It was an unescorted Galleon!"

"Which carries more guns than we do."

"I give up! I am getting off this ship and not coming back." Shyla snaps. Without waiting for the captain to respond, she storms from the cabin and heads below decks.She gathers up her things, stuffing them in her pack, throwing on her long, red-trimmed black coat and wide brimmed black hat before stomping down the gangplank.

Keeping her hat's brim pulled down over her metallic silver eyes, Shyla spends the next half an hour walking along Water Street, trying to shake off her sea-legs. It isn't until she turns down Festival Street, which runs down the middle of the town, that she notices all the festivities. Curious, and maybe a bit hungry, she follows the flow of the crowd up towards Church Street.OOC: Shyla's image basis

(click to show/hide)

What's really different is that she's got black bony spikes along her arms, think the Edgemaster from page 55, only just a few inches past her elbow. However, those are hidden under a long black coat. Her silver eyes are also partially obscured by the brim of her hat.

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Wizard's First Rule: People are stupid."A great GM knows how to make sure everyone has fun, and great players know the same." --Patrick KaperaArawn's Art: http://arawnnox.deviantart.com

Meanwhile, four travellers are just walking into Sandpoint by the main road. The largest of them stands six and a half feet tall, but carries an impression of still greater size. Perhaps it's the way his cloak billows.

"... and they gave me this sword as my prize. But that's enough of my stories - here we are at last, and in time for the festivities besides. Let's go enjoy the fun of the fair. Looks like they're busiest over by the cathedral itself."

The gang plank groans under a ton and half of mass. Weoxgyld strides onto the dock. Paiter trots ahead of him. Weoxgyld, gives Paiter a meaningful look. The balding ex-swashbuckler hesitates, then shrugs. With a resigned sigh he blows the hunting horn. Then again with more gusto. "Hail! Weoxgyld, son of Weoxhrothsten, son of Weoxhroth, Storm Born has come! He asks after your hospitality, rest under his protection during his time by your hearth."

Paiter (muttering):" I did it, you happy now?"Weoxgyld (quietly):" It is proper and polite to announce yourself when approaching the homes of others."

The pair wait at the edge of the town. Weoxgyld staring ahead hair and beard blowing in the sea wind. Paiter slumped and figeting impatiently against a convenient bollard.

Among those walking on the road is a young man in simple clothes, with a tabard of white trimmed in yellow, wearing a slouch hat pinnned up on the left side. At his companion's mention of the cathedral, he rouses himself from a daydream and looks up.

If she was human, she’d be all of seventeen. The dangerous sort of seventeen that’s full of spit and vinegar and the self-awareness of the utility of her own body in achieving her desires. But her eyes and her ears tell a different story, one of greater years and darker journeys made too often on her own. It’s a story that’s continued by the growing shadow of a bruise across her cheek eye, the blood streaking her dark skin and caking her hair, the soot soiling her clothes. Her face is stern, showing no sign of the emotions surging beneath the surface.

But again, her eyes tell a different story. The fire dancing in them isn't just the conflageration that had once been her home and family and every single thing she'd ever come to treasure.

All around, people are coming to watch the 2nd Time Around burn. There are calls for the watch, for water and magic to douse the flames. But not many and none of them answered. It doesn't surprise her. There's always an unfortunate delay to be had for the right price, and the cowled figure with the glowing staff had doubtlessly paid it out in full. Why, she didn't know: the assassins had been grimly silent, giving no indication if it had been Bjorn or Thala or the other five members of the small dwarven clan that had adopted her or even herself who'd been the target.

She looks down. If Annie were human, she'd be all of maybe six. But even though she looks like Divia's young sister, she's so much older. Just how old, though, is something else Divia doesn't know. It's just a thing, a creation for the spoilt children of the idle rich. It means nothing to her, a fortuitous find intended for an influential patron that she'd accidentially turned on during the fight. She has no idea how to look after it, and it'll only slow her down.

Divia squeezes Annies hand. "We're leaving," she answers as part of the roof caves in with a crash and an exhalation of cinders. "There's nothing left for us here."

"Oh." A pause, then "Look what I found!"

This is enough to tear Divia's eyes away from the flames. In her other hand, Annie is clutching a small velveteen rabbit, the pale lavender material streaked with soot. Hand trembling, Divia reaches out to touch it but her fingers curl into a fist before she can do it; she knows what will happen if she does, and she can't afford that. not now.

She looks back, but the cowled figure is gone; in its place, finally, is the sound of the Watch approaching. Another thing she can't afford. Questions, suspicions, interference.

"Come on, sweetie, let's go."

The two of them fade backwards into the dancing shadows.

* * *

Divia tugs on her coat as Annie diligently folds up their shared bedroll and gets it ready for her 'big sister' to carry. The dip in the sea had been refreshing enough, but a week since the fire and her last one, she's come to realise that she misses hot baths

"I was thinking about going to that sanctification ceremony," Argan begins, watching them. Despite her wariness, it's not a scrutiny Divia is wholly displeased with: their companion of the last day is attractive enough. "To get a feel for this town and see what local news I can pick up on. You're welcome to join me, if you like."

"Maybe," she answers guardedly, though in truth it's been her intended destination these last three days.

He pauses, and then goes on, a little uncertainly

"Ah... Divia. I was wondering... if you're going to go on travelling as you are, with your young sister, you might want to be equipped in case of trouble. As it happened, some lads tried to jump me a couple of towns before I met you, and dropped a few odds and ends... they aren't much use to me, so you're welcome to take one or another of them if you like. " He then pulls out from under his cloak a sap, a razor, and a sling, laying each of them on the ground in turn. It almost looks like he might add his shield, but instead he steps back, before urging:"Go ahead and take your pick, lass. One for you and another for your sister, maybe."

Accepting the bedroll from Annie, Divia walks over to Argan and picks up the razor. "Shiny," she says, dropping it into her coat pocket. "Thank you. So, does this mean we're going steady?" she teases him. As he blushes, she takes Annie's hand. "Well, let's get going. That free food won't eat itself."

Also disembarking from the ship is a rather tall, bearded young man of Ulfen heritage, reddish-gold hair tumbling to his shoulders. At his side strides a large, black-furred wolf. As they reach the bottom of the gangplank, they step aside to let one of the crew stomp past, apparently in some sort of huff. Following the sailor into town he quietly remarks to Víđrökkr, "I wonder who dragged a skunk across her track." The wolf cocks his head and almost seems to shrug before padding off toward the town before him. Haldar checks his gear, sparse as it is and follows after, quickly catching up to the wolf even as Víđrökkr reaches the edge of town. "Now you stay close and don't cause any trouble here," Haldar cautions his companion, "They're probably not used to our kind."

Noticing the noble giant and his retainer at the end of the pier, Haldar calls out, "Hail, Weoxgyld! How goes it with you this fine day?"

"It is indeed a fine day and the scent of cooking tells me that it will be a better day shortly." He turns to Paiter with a grin, "Indeed, should I find the Thane of this fine town I will send him down here immediately. Suppressing a grin upon noticing the look Weoxgyld gives Paiter, Haldar speaks again, "Festival you say? I'll try to save some you some ale.

Haldar heads off again, following his nose towards the scents of fresh-baked bread and cooking meats, Víđrökkr at his side.

Eloise doesn't stand out so much, Sandpoint is distant from Magnimar, but is still civilized. There are local aristocrats and a few nobles from Magnimar present. Also, the theater is unmatched in northern Varisia, often attracting divas and the best players and directors from Magnimar and Korvosa in addition to featuring local talent. Similarly, there are a surprising number of gorgeous (and serviceable) clothes. accessories, jewels and bobbles.

Shyla eventually finds the festival square. It's filled with people waiting for the beginning of the ceremony. It looks like the feast is slated for after the ceremony.

Argan, Theodoros, Alden, Divia, and Anna follow the Lower Coast Road across the bridge and onto Market Street. Out of the entire group, the only one who seems to draw attention is Alden, with people whispering and surreptitiously pointing. His silver hair and idealized features drawing the attention.

If the information the Alden and Theodoros has is right, Iomedae is not on of the deities the cathedral is dedicated to, but The Inheritor maintains close alliances with Old Dead Eye, the Dawnflower, and the Master of the First Vault who are.

Down at the docks, the longshoremen and stevedores look up at Paiter's performance. Most begin to laugh, but then swallow their mirth on seeing Weox. A town guardsman eventually gathers himself and walks out to confront Paiter and Weox.

"What's all this then?" he says, looking back and forth between the aging swashbuckler and the blue giant. Haldar and his wolf don't draw a second glance from him though.

Logged

We can lick gravity, but sometimes the paperwork is overwhelming. - Werner von BraunRight now you have no idea how lucky you are that I am not a sociopath. - A sign seen above my desk.There's no upside in screwing with things you can't explain. - Captain Roy Montgomery

Weoxgyld's booming voice addresses the official. "I am Weoxgyld, son of Weoxhrothsten, son of Weoxhroth, of the Stormborn. I seek permission to enter your fine settlement and offer my arm to defend you as my own. This is the tradition of my people." His voice is/tries for pure oratatory and his pose (attempts to) radiates confidence over his entire great height.(impress check?)

Looking up from picking the dirt from benethe his nails Paiter suruptiously raises one eyebrow at the guard then tilts his head as if to say 'go on then'

Shyla looks about at the festival being prepared and it's location, drawing the conclusion that it's a holy-day or some-such. She turns to walk away, but her eye catches the feast being prepared and her stomach growls in protest of her current course of action. Deciding to at least stay for the food, Shyla finds a spot near the back of the crowd, or a building to lean on, and waits for the festivities to commence.

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Wizard's First Rule: People are stupid."A great GM knows how to make sure everyone has fun, and great players know the same." --Patrick KaperaArawn's Art: http://arawnnox.deviantart.com

Argan looks around for a good place to eat, as well as keeping half an eye out for any sideshows of the strength-testing variety that might offer some small income for the road. His true, ten foot form walks with practiced delicacy within roughly the same space as his lesser illusory one, seeing clearly over the crowd, and many of the stalls besides, before leaning over towards one of his companions to settle a matter of idle curiosity.

"Teo, lend me your scholarly expertise a minute," he asks, quietly. "Why are all these bits and pieces missing from the buildings around here?"